


Thanks

by LipstickAndWhiskey (CopperMarigolds)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 03:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8605852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperMarigolds/pseuds/LipstickAndWhiskey
Summary: He was wonderful; until he made you hate him. Can his trespasses be forgiven?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Erin (@winchestersnco on tumblr) sent me a prompt ‘He was the bane of your existence and the darkness in your life.’ and this was the result. I’d also like to say I don’t take requests, so please don’t ask. Hope you like this one!

The first few times you met, he was more than nice. He was charming, incredibly handsome, and proved himself to be a great hunter. He was quick-witted, and a great shot. Plus he managed to surprise you each time with how much he cared about people.

He made it no secret that he liked you, though took it well each time you turned him down gently. He never pushed, always taking your polite ‘no’ for what it was. A rare quality it seemed for men you met, always getting damn near groped every time you went to a bar. You respected him, and were getting dangerously close to having serious feelings for him.

The times he met you since, though, he was different. He was reckless, almost as if he was trying to get himself killed. He threw himself into his work and it seemed as though he were going through the motions. His brother not at his side should have been the first red flag- the two hardly ever separated in your short experience with them. Yet here he was, hunting on his own.

The two of you wrapped up a barely successful hunt, storing your guns in the trunk of his impala before heading back to the motel room you shared. He’d been a gentleman, giving you your own separate bed to sleep on and letting you have your pick too. Shedding your jacket, you sat on the edge of the bed pulling off your boots. The fuckers didn’t seem to want to come off no matter how much you tugged at the laces.

Suddenly hands covered yours, halting the frantic, jerky movement of your hands. Dean crouched in front of you, methodically pulling at your laces before pulling the boots free from your feet one at a time. He set them at the foot of the bed before resting his hands on your thighs, right above your knees. The warmth of his hands seeped into your skin, radiating up your limbs and relaxing you.

He squeezed lightly, slowly rising up in front of you until his stomach pressed to your knees. He leaned into your space, the softest you’d seen him be all day, lifting a hand to place tenderly against your cheek. He leaned his head against yours, lips temptingly near your own, begging to be tasted.

“I want you,” he breathed out, voice warm and low against your mouth. His voice was like tennessee whiskey, warm and smooth as it washed over you. His proximity was intoxicating and his touch enough to make you feel a little light-headed. His mouth grazed yours as he angled his head to the side, nosing the spot on your neck where your pulse jumped. His mouth followed, sliding temptingly over the spot that was beginning to quickly hammer, before he pressed an open-mouthed kiss there. His mouth was incredibly warm against your neck, and subconsciously your head angled to the side. He pressed another kiss to your neck as your legs parted. He took the opportunity to pull in closer, wrapping his free arm around you as he continued his slow assault on your neck.

“I need you,” he breathed across the hot-wet kisses he left on your skin, surely robbing you of coherent thought other than the warm press of him against you and between your parted thighs. All you could do was nod and whimper, his effect on you stronger than you dared to admit.

Wrapping his strong arms around you, he stood with you before pressing you up and forward onto the bed, hardly letting you get far without his body close to yours. He became like a starved man, starving for your touch and the press of your body against his. The entire night was spent in each other’s arms, legs tangled in sheets and nothing between you but body heat and whispered words in the darkness.

When morning came, you weren’t sure what it brought with it. You didn’t dare for a relationship, though you wanted nothing more than to call him yours. You figured you’d even settle for a friends with benefits thing, as long as it meant you got to be close with him again like you just were. Anything to keep him in your life was good enough for you.

As you woke though, you realized how cold you were. Pulling the covers high to your chin, you pried your eyes open- finding no Dean in sight. You sat up quickly, heart in your throat, hoping and praying that he wasn’t just _gone_. He couldn’t be- not after what you’d shared last night. Not without some sort of goodbye or anything.

All you found was a motel notepad, a crappy pen next to it. Scribbled in his careless, all-caps handwriting was a ‘thanks’. No name, no tone, no nothing. Just the word ‘thanks’ screaming at you in your now blank mind.

The word echoed and rattled around in your head for months afterward, taunting you in the quiet early hours of the morning and the dark loneliness of night. You were heartbroken at first. Now, though? Now you were pissed. He was the bane of your existence and the darkness in your life. The dark bitterness that ate away at you. You deserved better. Better than some dickless, spineless dillweed that skipped out on you in the morning.

The next time you saw him, he was with his brother again. He seemed lighter than the last time you’d seen him, but you couldn’t see much through your anger-colored lenses. The minute they showed up at your crimescene, you struggled to not stroll up to him and punch him in the face. Repeatedly. The entire time you were cold to them, and although you felt a certain sting of remorse for acting like that with Sam as well, you couldn’t help but let your sour mood affect the way you dealt with everyone.

In your fury, you didn’t notice the tension in Dean’s shoulders or the longing looks he sent your way. Nor did you notice the way his hand scrubbed over his face as you stalked away, muttering curses under your breath the entire way to your car. You sat there, gripping the steering wheel tight until your knuckles turned white, breathing slowly as you hoped you wouldn’t completely break down in broad daylight. A knock at your window startled you briefly, a contrite Dean standing just on the other side of your car door.

“Can we talk?” he asked, pointing to the car. You stared at him for a timeless moment, wondering if it was a good idea before giving in with a nod. You were too curious for your own good you thought as he walked around the car to climb in next to you. You didn’t bother looking at him, steering wheel still clutched tight between your hands as he quietly sneaked peeks at you from his peripheral.

“Well?” you asked, tired and weary of his silence. “You wanted to talk. So talk.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, making sure to enunciate each word. He waited and your silence lingered, hanging in the air. “I wasn’t- I… Last time you saw me, I wasn’t really… _me_.”

That got your attention. You looked over at him, familiar green eyes gazing back at you. You squinted at him, making him squirm slightly under your harsh gaze.

“Explain,” you demanded, hoping he wouldn’t try to cop out by pulling some bullshit excuse. Maybe he’d pull the usual excuse, ‘It was the adrenaline’ or ‘It was a rash decision’. You swore if he said either that you’d actually punch him.

His head dipped as he worried at his hands, eyes cast downward. You’d never seen him act like this before. He’d been many things- cocky, solemn, brash, gentle. Never was he this… dare you say _nervous_? He continued to push at his cuticles, brow furrowed and face tense as his hidden dimples made a rare appearance.

“I was a demon,” he finally admitted.

Well, that was the last thing you’d expected him to say.

“Excuse me?” you asked, baffled. “You were… _a demon_? How the hell does that even work?” you wondered, incredulous.

He scoffed, “It’s fifty shades of fucked up, but it was because of the mark.”

You nodded absentmindedly, letting it sink in. Looking at him now, you noticed he didn’t seem like he was last time. That spark he was missing was back, though seemingly dimmer under his mood that cast haunted shadows over his face. Your anger was forgotten now, but the hurt still simmered low in your gut as your fingers loosened around the steering wheel.

“So you’re okay now?” He finally looked up at you, eyes sparkling with an unknown emotion.

“Yeah, I’m- I’m okay.” He reached out to you, pulling back as he thought better of it and letting his hand fall to the seat between you. “I should have stayed. If I was me, I would have stayed. I need you to know that. You’re worth more than a fuckin’ note on a motel notepad. Ever since I was cured, that note has been eating away at me. It was such a dick move, and I’m so sorry. _So sorry._ ”

You could tell he meant it. The note tore at you, but you could clearly see he regretted it. But was that the only thing he regretted?

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before you asked the question you dreaded most. “Do you regret that night at the motel too?”

“ _No_ ,” was his immediate reaction. He nearly shouted it at you, his adamance clear. “I wouldn’t trade that night for anything. That morning though, I’d give anything to have woken up with you in my arms. Anything to have another chance with you.”

You tore your eyes from him, looking forward out of the windshield. Gulping around the tightness in your throat, you couldn’t help the tears that tracked down your face. They glided freely, uninhibited still as you closed your eyes against the onslaught. Moments passed before you could bring yourself to speak.

“You hurt me, Dean. That note tore me apart.” You chanced a look at him, his face contorted into sheer pain. “You’ll have to make it up to me.”

“Anything,” he promised immediately. “Anything you want, sweetheart.”

Your mouth curled into a soft smile, the tears now drying and leaving you with the beginnings of a headache. You pried one hand from the steering wheel, stiff from your grip, and settled it over his on the seat. He immediately flipped his hand over to hold, interlocking fingers as though they were meant to be that way. “Stay. Stay this time.”

His voice was rough, though his reply was immediate. “Absolutely.”

A watery laugh fell from your lips, another request coming to mind. “And a date. With flowers and a burger from the diner on wilson street.”

He smiled trepidatiously, the relief settling into his features and making him look younger. “I can do that, sweetheart. I’ll even share a slice of pie with you.”

You laughed airily before surging forward and wrapping your arms around his neck, holding onto him as tight as you could. He didn’t care how hard you squeezed him, as long as he could hold you again in his arms.


End file.
